Excerpts. 19

Freest of the Free

For Walt Whitman

O Captain! Our Captain
Patriarch of the modern poet tree, always aiming
To be the freest of the free, even I too

Am a pupil of you, heeding evolution as a departure
From the masters, excavating
The exquisite canon

Of your Leaves of Grass mapped out like the long
Winding road of life ushering us
Back through the mine of

Your beautiful mind – full of vagaries, vigor
And vitality, full of love to be
Explored, even still

Tomorrow, for ages to follow.


Trackless Tracts Revisited

No train of thought on the track
Of chain reaction

To the café
Called abstraction

Where age is
A broken record skipping

Just for the hell of it

As jazzmen sometimes scream
Buoyant riffs that tiptoe

Through tulips atop the roof gardens
Like birds at play

Until the future is

A retrospection
On apocalypse

In antiquity’s
Private collection.

No train of thought
Or inherited

Just rumbled rambles

Of revelation
Riding an escalating

Squall shaping
Into a streaming storm
Of consciousness coming

& going like zephyrs
Zooming in a zealous flurry

At the zero hour
Of Earth waking
To the flight of a newborn

Chasing the clouds away.

No train of thought
Or sanctimonious

Merely moments

On the montage
Of mynd, remembering

The corridors

To everywhere from the edge
Of nowhere. No train

Of thought, just ordinary
Moods, & hearts

With standing room

Only, between moments
Of night & day

Sundry as the soular
Paths ahead of me.


Keepin’ the Faith

layin in the cut (so
deep in the cut)
i remember you
like a moment ago

cool struttin
back & forth
between the devil
& the deep blue sea, steppin

into tomorrow
beyond body and soul
like the gypsy with nothin
to lose but the love that just

walked in–
& nothin but
thoughts of hope
that keep on a blowin

through the labyrinth
life of my faith dressed
as the dreamkeeper shoutin
on a riff & a prayer, despite death’s

illusion of endings, book-
marked by exits of entrance
to somewhere & everywhere all
at once, in the geography of time.

©2014 MDSHall

The Glorious Dance of the Griot Song

like spoken words
gifted with intelligence
of each movement, each

pause, each silence
we are the incantations
of creation

in the making, surviving
on sounds pregnant with

soulful intentions
of singing to celebrate
the artifact, while

setting its beauty
in motion in an embrace
of love that marries

experience to
experiment in & of
our benevolence.

©2014 MDSHall